


Lx/Sunflowers in the rain

by murder_wives



Category: Glass Animals (Band)
Genre: Attached feelings optional, Dave POV, Drave, Drew and Dave, Drugs, High Sex, I feel like something similar to this actually happened, M/M, but only cos of drugs, drugs and sex, high, slight dub con, teenage experimentation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murder_wives/pseuds/murder_wives
Summary: Teenage Drew and Dave experiment some while high. Attached feelings optional. From Dave’s point of view.
Relationships: Dave Bayley/Drew MacFarlane
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Lx/Sunflowers in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> In a few interviews, Dave has mentioned that he and Drew used to get high together as teenagers... I feel like they had to have experimented at some point. Maybe.

I’m high. I’m lying on a bed in Drew’s pool house, sun bleached sheets gritty from sand beneath me, and I am so, so high. The rest of the day is a drugged out blur; I’m not even sure what time it is, not sure of how long we’ve been here, and right now there is only this: breeze from the open door, smoke from the joint Drew is smoking beside me, patterns of sunset light across the wall. Those patterns, they catch and hold my eyes. Are they moving, or is that me? 

To my left, I hear Drew move. Lazily, I shift my focus from the light on the wall to him. He’s sprawled out over the sheets, one elbow propping him up, a fag dangling from his fingertips. The golden light catches the elegant bones of his face; the setting sun turns his hair chestnut brown. He looks like a painting. 

When he notices me staring, his eyes meet mine. They rake over my body, taking me in, just as I just did to him. He stares back, holding my gaze as he takes a drag. 

“Do you ever think,” Drew says. It’s the first time either of us have spoken in what feels like hours, days. I wait for him to continue.

He doesn’t. 

“Do I ever think?” I reply at last, after several long seconds of silence. My voice is rusty from disuse. 

Drew sighs, stubs out his joint, turns to face me. His eyes. Dear god, his eyes. I can’t look away. 

“My parents are gone, did you know that?” Before I can reply, he continues, nonsensical, rambling. 

“This feels like a dream... but we lived, Dave, damn it, we lived, we’re living, don’t let them tell us we didn’t, that we aren’t, don’t say it was all a dream.” 

His voice breaks, just a little.

“Do you ever think about what it feels like to wake up?”

His gaze drops from mine, to the sand on the pillow, I think. Most of what he said didn’t make much sense, I don’t know how to reply, and so I don’t. I let the silence draw out between us, comfortable and lived in, a space that we both know. But then suddenly Drew is moving, closing the space between us, lying nearly on top of me as he brackets my head with his forearms, close enough to kiss. 

I’m looking up at his eyes, which seem to be swirling, and damn, I didn’t think I could get any higher, but here we are. Drew is a multitude of colors, and his arms are warm, and he smells like chlorine and sweat. We’re both high as fucking kites, and neither of us care, do we? 

fuck it, I think, and reach for him. 

Drew opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m already moving, already hooking a hand behind his head and pressing his lips to mine, using my free hand to explore his back. It’s not a collision, it’s not electric, it’s warm and comfortable and it feels like the silence when we drive together with the radio on low.

That warmth gathers and sparks between us, friction building into a low heat. Drew tastes like drugs and black tulips, he tastes like surfing videos, he tastes like that one time we skipped school and bought records instead. He tastes a little bit like me.

He pulls away from me, just enough to breathe. His nose is nearly touching mine, he’s breathing hard, nearly into my mouth. 

I reach out and touch his cheek. 

“I think it would feel like that,” I say. Drew smiles. And then he’s kissing me again. 

after what could have been a few sun soaked minutes or possibly several days, Drew pulls away again. His eyes are huge, pupils blown wide, his hair mussed. At some point, I’ve lost my shirt, and his is unbuttoned, open across his chest. My eyes catch on the lean muscle there, the elegant lines of his ribs. I reach up and push it off of his shoulders. Drew’s eyebrows quirk, just slightly. 

“Do you want....” he says, a little breathless. His knees press into my hips. 

“Yeah,” I say, because right now, I do, and I can’t think clearly, I’m high on drugs and Drew, and we might regret this later, but more likely we’ll both forget it, so what does it matter anyway. 

And then Drew is moving, his lips are on my throat, and I’m lost, torn between the electric heat of his mouth on my neck, and the dark warmth that is drugs and Drew and something else, something deeper, pulling me down, and down...

————————————————————

I wake up to dusky light filtering through the window, the still-open door, and Drew is asleep next to me, bare legs tangled through mine. It’s a vague kind of light, and I can’t tell if it’s dawn or dusk, but does it matter? I’m still high, though marginally less so than I was last night.... last night. 

God. I groan as I remember the reason why I’m mostly naked, remember heat and hazey lust, Drew moving above me, his lips on my collarbone... too loud. Beside me, I feel Drew wake up. I look over at him, and he cracks one eye open, gives me a lazy grin. His hair is mussed from sleep and sex, and there’s sand in the corner of one eye. That damn sand is everywhere. 

Unthinkingly, he sits up, just slightly, loops an arm around my shoulders, moves as if to kiss me. I push him away, just a little, sit back. 

“Oh,” Drew says. He drops his arm. His eyebrows knit together. 

“Are you...? Do you not...?” He sounds hurt. 

I try to explain, but I’m still high, still half asleep, and I’m not sure if I could explain it anyway. 

“No! I don’t, I mean I do, it’s just that.. I don’t know, it’s just that...” 

damn, I am really rather bad at this. I press on. 

“It’s just that, well, Drew, we’re high.”

At this, Drew laughs. 

“See, that’s the point, Dave,” he says, slurring his words, just a little. “We’re not in love, we’re just...” 

He throws his arm across my shoulders again, draws me closer, buries his face in my chest. 

“Not in love...” continues, into my chest. “Just high, you know? And so it doesn’t matter.... it doesn’t matter, right? and I don’t care... what I’ll think later, whatever, because you, you just...” 

He, impossibly, moves closer, nuzzling into the junction of my neck and shoulder. I fall back onto the bed. Sober Drew would never. He’s still rambling. 

“Because, damn, you just smell so good.”

That’s so bizarre, I have to laugh. 

“Drew,” I say. “I smell like you.” It’s true. 

He looks up at me from where his head is resting on my shoulder. 

“Yeah,” is all he says. We lie there for a minute, comfortable silence stretching between us again.

I’m just starting to doze off when Drew is moving again, rolling off of me, tugging me out of bed. I mumble a complaint. 

“Come on. You. Me. Out of bed.” 

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Outside. Come on.”

He’s got an arm around my waist, pulling me up, except my legs don’t quite work yet and I stumble. Before I can fall, he scoops me up, loops a wrist behind my legs, and - god - I am in Drew MacFarlane’s arms, and he is honest-to-god carrying me, like he’s a prince or something. The rhythmic jostle of his steps has me near sleep again. 

“Didn’t know you could carry me like this, Drew,” I mumble into his shirt. 

“Yeah, well, you don’t know a lot of things, do you, Dave?”

He’s walking outside, and then we’re beside the pool, and he is laying down on one of the lounge chairs, pulling me down on top of him. I’m falling asleep when he speaks again. 

“I wish we could be real, too,” he says. He starts to say something else, but I’m so tired...

—————————————————————

When I wake up for the second time, finally sober, I am lying in a pool of my own sweat on the settee, covered in grit, eyes shot to hell with chlorine from the pool. I feel rotten. Dead butterfly floating on the surface of the pool, distantly audible machine hum, drowned wasps and moths swirling in the plastic filter baskets. From above, the noon sun is beating down into my open mouth. Drew is gone. I still smell like him.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before the release of Dreamland, so song references were actually not song references and were little bits that I stole from Dave’s notes on the open source. In the context of the released songs, they work surprisingly well, so I’ve left them. There’s a few more in here that didn’t end up being used in lyrics, have fun trying to find those. 
> 
> love and appreciate comments and kudos, always, thanks for any support xxx
> 
> 𝘕𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵  
> 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦: 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩?  
> 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭  
> 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭  
> 𝘞𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 
> 
> 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘸  
> 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳  
> 𝘕𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭, 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭


End file.
